


The Highs and Lows of Roller Coasters

by animehead



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Marijuana, Smoking, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animehead/pseuds/animehead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smoking boyfriends just chilling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Highs and Lows of Roller Coasters

Your couch is old, but it’s still the most comfortable piece of furniture in your apartment. You’re settled onto it, lying on your back and staring at the ceiling above you. You press the tiny button on the laser pointer, mesmerized by the way the purple light dances with each flick of your wrist. 

 

It still is and will always be the best gift ever. 

 

From the corner of your eye, you notice a hand rising toward your face, index finger and thumb pinched together carefully. You take the joint from his hands and glare down at it. You’re certain the length was significantly longer after that last rotation. 

 

“Gamzee.”

 

“Mm?”

 

You bring the joint up to your lips and take a puff, a small one. You’re trying to extend the life of this thing before it shrinks into roach territory where it will join the other nine of them. You know for a fact that there are nine because you’ve counted. 

 

You should probably throw those away. 

 

When you exhale, you breathe out a steady stream of smoke. A white cloud dances in front of you and you lower the laser pointer and shine the purple light through it. Gamzee reaches his hand back up in an attempt to keep the rotation going, but you knock it away. 

 

“The rest is mine.”

 

“What?” Gamzee says, his voice dragging the word, something he typically he does when he’s stoned. He turns around, facing you, and reaches for the joint again. “Come on now,” he whines. “A motherfucker only had all like two hits.”

 

“You had more than two,” you say. “Way more.”

 

“Nah, brother. I’ve all been countin’ them and shit.” When Gamzee reaches for it again, you drop your laser point and take hold of his wrist. You hold it up high in the air while using your other hand to bring the joint up to his lips. “This way I can keep an eye on you,” you say. 

 

He grins at you and takes a long drag, nearly killing what was left of the joint. When he speaks, smoke puffs out into your face and if you weren’t high already, you’d be well on your way to a contact high. “You know a motherfucker loves when he’s all got all your attention.”

 

You would blush, but you’re too far gone to do anything but lean in, kiss him, and take one last hit of the joint before it hits roach zone and becomes too small for you to hold in your fingers without burning yourself. 

 

Gamzee takes the roach from you and leans far enough to drop it in the astray on top of the table next to the couch. Neither of you smoke cigarettes, but Gamzee says you’re all classy motherfuckers so you’ve opted for buying one purple ashtray and one brown one instead of using an old plate that neither of you have washed in a month. 

 

He’s about to settle himself back down on the floor beside you, but you grab him by the arm and tug upward. He looks at you, questioningly, and you respond by shrugging your shoulders and raising up your torso until you’re upright with your back resting against the arm of the couch. 

 

“Does a motherfucker want to get his cuddle on?” he says, playfully and you shrug again. 

 

“Uh, I don’t know. I was thinking we could maybe do that afterward.”

 

“Motherfuckin’ say no more.” He flops down besides you and accidentally sits on the stereo remote. Luckily, the music isn’t too loud and it’s a song you both like as you’ve had it on repeat for nearly two days straight. 

 

You grab him by his shirt and pull him forward. 

 

There was a time where you weren’t confident enough to do something like that, but you’ve come a long way and Gamzee has been a great help. You used to think he was just clueless to your unbelievably subtle advances, but you’ve come to understand that he played that game to get you to be more willing to voice what you want. 

 

Now you don’t really bother with the voicing as much. 

 

Gamzee gasps and shudders when you glide your tongue along the shell of his ear. His fingers dig into your back and this only encourages you, tells you that you know exactly what he needs and that you’re the only one who can give it to him. 

 

You stop long enough to help him get his shirt off. He tosses it off to the side and the moment it hits the floor, you latch onto his neck only to moan when he slips his hand inside your pants and palms your covered erection. 

 

“Don’t you think we should... ahh... take this to the room?”

 

“A motherfucker can’t wait for all that,” he breathes against your lips and gently pushes you back. 

 

It doesn’t take long before you’re both free from your clothes. They lie scattered about your shared filthy apartment. Eventually, you’re both going to have to do something about that before you’re slapped with an eviction notice. 

 

But that can wait. 

 

You’re seconds from straddling him because you know how much he likes for you to be on top, when you decide you’d like to try something new. 

 

“Help me out a bit,” you say. You’d like to be able to climb over top of him without falling on the floor in front of him. You know if that happens the two of you will laugh, get distracted, start smoking again, and any thoughts of sex will be long forgotten. 

 

He has a steady hold on your waist, making it easier for you to be comfortably seated on top of him, your back flush against his chest. You’re thankful that neither of you ever puts anything back in its place because there’s lube wedged between two couch cushions from the last time you used it. 

 

You use you hand to balance yourself against the arm of the sofa when he tilts you forward. You’re silently hoping that he’s quick with this part because your arm is starting to tremble. When he lowers you back down, you feel his cock sliding into you, spreading you, and you cry out because it feels fantastic. 

 

You take all of it. 

 

You love the way he moves his hips, rocking you, bouncing you like one of the many rides at the theme park the two of you like to go to. _The roller coasters_. You never ride those things, you can’t, but Gamzee can. 

 

But he doesn’t. 

 

You used to think it was because he didn’t want you to feel bad, left out. You thought he felt sorry for you, pitied you and the things you couldn’t do. 

 

You know better now. 

 

The teeth gripping your shoulder snap you back into reality and you moan and grind your hips down, hard. You feel fingers in your hair, gliding along one short side before threading through the longer middle locks. Those same fingers grip, tug, _yank_ your head back far enough for him to turn it to the side and shove his tongue inside your mouth. His other hand reaches around you, grabs your cock, and pumps, long fingers sliding up and down along the length of your cock. You moan again, but he’s still kissing you, swallowing down your cries of ecstasy, greedily keeping them all to himself.  

 

You’re able to break the kiss long enough to whimper out his name. “Gamzee...” And he groans and slams up into you. 

 

“Fuck,” he whispers, once again drawing out the word much longer than he needs to. “A motherfucker loves...when you....ahh...get all up to saying...m-my name like that, Tav.”

 

You don’t reply to that, not that you don’t want to, but the sound of his voice does things to you, things when added with the way he’s still stroking your cock, it’s just too much for you to handle. You’re weak, helpless to the pleasure that he gives you, and you love it. 

 

You fucking _love_ it. 

 

It’s a natural reaction when you grip at his wrist with both your hands. It serves no purpose because as strong as you are--upper-body wise, at least--you’re still not strong enough to stop him. 

 

Not that you’d want to, anyway. 

 

The pulsing stereo music is drowned out by the sound of your shout. You force yourself to open your eyes, to watch as a part of you, creamy and white, spills over his fingers, rolls down his palm, and generally makes things really sticky. For a brief second, you feel his tongue dragging up your back until you hear that telltale gasp that he can’t hold back any longer. He whispers your name, or rather, the first three letters of it, and tenses behind you. He can’t control the violent shudder or his hips, or the way his nails rake down your back, one hand almost painfully gripping your shoulder and forcing you down as hard as you can go. That’s fine. You’re okay with that. 

 

Honestly, you like when he comes apart like this. 

 

You’re both coming down. You’re still on his lap, staring straight ahead at the television, which isn’t on and that’s weird because that meant the two of you had been staring at blank screen since you started smoking and how did you not realize that? 

 

Gamzee murmurs something behind you and the next thing you know, you’re being lifted and placed on the couch so he can stand up. You stare at him, eyes soaking up his image, smudged makeup, healed scar that he doesn’t like to take about just barely peeking through. 

 

You blush and turn away and hear him chuckle. 

 

“I know a motherfucker’s not all up and blushing after that. Shit, Tav. Tryin’ to get your innocent on like a motherfucker don’t all up and know no better.”

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say as innocently as you can, but you’re not innocent and obviously, he knows that better than anyone else. 

 

“I hear that, brother,” he says, disbelieving, of course. 

 

You wait patiently when he steps out of the living room and comes back a few seconds later with a warm, wet, washcloth and helps you get cleaned up. Afterward, the two of you get dressed and are presentable enough to go out for a much needed snack run, which is what you do. 

 

The temperature is particularly perfect for a fall’s night. The moon shines along the sidewalk, adding to the streetlights and helps you both to see where you’re going. Gamzee’s behind you, pushing your chair, and spitting lyrics that you write down on the back of a piece of junk mail because you know he’ll forget them if you don’t. 

 

This, right here, is perfect. 

 

Who needs roller coasters?


End file.
